


Drink You Away

by bi0nicbuckyb



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 16:55:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17328881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bi0nicbuckyb/pseuds/bi0nicbuckyb





	Drink You Away

Leaving him was the hardest thing you ever had to do, but what other choice did you have? Dean was practically drowning in whiskey at this point, never giving himself a chance to come up for air. If he wasn’t drinking himself to oblivion in the bunker, he was out at some local dive bar spending what little money he had on harder liquor. When he became this drunk, he didn’t realize what he was doing, often flirting with other women and drinking even more to mask his shame of betraying you. Even Sam had started to notice how bad it was becoming.

“You have to leave him, Y/N,” Sam said to you, concern laced in his words. “As much as I know it’ll kill him, you have to make him see.”

“Wouldn’t that make things worse? If I leave, he’ll just drink more.”

“Maybe,” Sam replied, his brow furrowed in concentration. “But we have to try something. He doesn’t listen to me. If you leave, it’s bound to make him wise up. He’d do anything for you.”

You knew Sam was probably right but, even though Dean had put you both through hell and back in the past couple of months, you had a hard time hurting him. He was mean when he was drunk, which frightened you. The Mark of Cain that blazed on his forearm didn’t help matters either. He had never laid a hand on you, but the smashing of anything in his reach, the slamming of doors, and the screaming at the top of his lungs was getting to be too much. Maybe if you left, it would alleviate the pressure you put on him to quit drinking. Sam seemed to think if you left, he’d quit cold turkey. But that was far from the case.

Your heart broke in a thousand tiny pieces, the day you gathered your stuff from Dean’s room. This was your home, but Dean needed to get better. It wasn’t healthy for you to stay here, for your relationship to go down this path. He had to know there was an ultimatum. The day you told Dean you were leaving, was a day you’d never forget.

“What are you doing?” he’d asked, slightly stumbling into the bedroom, his hair mussed up from constantly running his fingers through it. He wasn’t fully loaded yet, coherent enough to understand what was happening. Your heart hammered in your chest, tingles shooting up your spine. He was not going to like this.

“I’m leaving, Dean,” you whispered, unable to face him. You continued to pile your clothes into your duffle bag, trying hard to choke back your tears that threatened to spill over. You expected him to scream, to throw things and curse you out – but, he didn’t. Instead, he calmly walked up behind you, stopping about a foot away from you, unsure of what to say.

“W-Why?” was all he could muster, his voice cracking making your heart crack in return. All the good memories you’d shared, before the Mark of Cain, started to flow back into your brain. You’d been heavily avoiding them since you and Sam had your talk, but there was no stopping them now. You bit your lip, a single tear flowing down your cheek. 

“I can’t do this anymore…”

His total silence behind you was unsettling, waiting for his stack to blow. You had no idea what else to say, knowing full well he knew what you meant. Continuing to pack your things, you stayed in silence. You had already said so much before, what more could you possibly say?

“Where are you going?” 

His sudden, gruff voice in the silent air made you jump slightly, dropping the t-shirt in your hands that was actually Dean’s. It was an AC/DC shirt he’d given to you the first day you’d come to the bunker; wet, freezing, and desperate for help. You wiped away the tears that were flowing freely now with the back of your hand, before turning around to face him. 

“I don’t know, Dean. Anywhere but here.”

Your sudden boldness and harsh tone wounded him. It was written all over his face. Every fiber of your being was begging you to take him in your arms, kiss him and hold him and make everything better. But your brain strongly advised against it, so you stayed put. There were some moments like this over the past couple months, although they were scarce, where the Mark would lose it’s hold on him for a few glorious moments. It was when the Dean you knew, your Dean, showed through all the fucked up mess. Why did that moment have to be right now? 

“This is too much,” you continued, turning around to zip up your duffle bag, unable to tell him what you were about to say, face to face. “You can’t control yourself, your drinking is out of hand. I’m scared around you. You’re not the Dean I know… not the one I love.”

“Y/N…”

“No,” you said, putting up your hand to quiet him. His emerald green eyes were becoming cloudy with tears, and you knew if one tear fell onto his cheek it would be over. You would stay, and he would never change. Swinging your bag over your shoulder, you began to walk towards the door. You expected him to stop you, to stand in front of you and not let you go, but he didn’t. He stayed standing in the same spot, his hands by his sides clenched in fists so tight his knuckles were white. “I’m leaving. I’m so sorry.”

With a quick kiss on his stubbled cheek, you walked out of the bedroom. Before you closed the door behind you, you took one last look at him. He still hadn’t moved, the shock of what you’d said slowly processing in his brain. Your feet suddenly felt like lead, but you knew you had to move. It was now or never. 

“Goodbye, Dean,” you whispered, unsure if he was even listening. “I love you.” 

And with that, you closed the door, your chest heaving with sobs as you climbed the stairs of the bunker to the door. Your eyes were clouded with tears as you exited your home, the last sound you heard coming from Dean’s bedroom; crashes and screams, the sound of the Mark of Cain rearing its ugly head.

\-------------------------

It had been close to a month since you’d left the bunker. Sam checked on you everyday, texting you and letting you know of Dean’s progress. You hadn’t heard from Dean directly though, and every time Sam brought him up your heart sank deeper. Sam said he wasn’t drinking as much, but you weren’t entirely sure you believed him. 

This particular day felt weird, everything about it. From the time you woke up, you felt like someone was watching you but shook it off, knowing that Sam had put every protection on your motel room he possibly could. 

As you were laying down to try and go to sleep, there was a sudden knock at your door. It was pouring down rain, thundering so loud it shook the room. You were surprised you’d even heard the knock. Grabbing the revolver Sam had left you under your pillow, you slowly walked to the door. Whoever it was knocked again, louder this time. Your heart was pounding, as you grabbed the knob and turned it, swinging open the door and pointing the gun at the stranger’s face. You stopped breathing completely, when you realized it wasn’t a stranger at all. 

“Dean?!” you yelled over the pounding rain, lowering the gun to your side. He was soaking wet from head to toe, his eyes bloodshot red. His hair clung to his scalp, longer than the last time you’d seen him, and there were dark bags under his eyes. He looked exhausted, and you grabbed his elbow to bring him inside out of the cold. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you asked angrily, grabbing a towel from the bathroom and wrapping it around him. He didn’t look at you, instead opting to look down at his boots. “Where’s the Impala? Did you walk here?!”

“Yes,” he finally said, looking up at you slowly. A broken man stood before you, and you had no idea what to do. He didn’t seem angry, which was a good sign; he just seemed defeated, which was worse. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” you breathed, fidgeting back and forth on the balls of your feet. Your fingers were itching to towel dry his hair, get him out of those wet clothes and into a hot shower, but you resisted. 

“I’m sorry, I-” he started, his perfect green eyes locking with yours for but a moment, before looking back down at the floor. 

“Why are you here, Dean?” you insisted, crossing your arms at your chest. You were trying to look tough, trying to act as if his sudden presence back into your life didn’t matter, but it did. The breaking point was visible now, and it wouldn’t take much for you to tip over the edge. 

“I can’t drink you away,” he mumbled, his body shivering now from his wet clothes. You bit your lip, taking in a deep breath. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Whiskey makes me forget all the fucked up shit in my life. It numbs the pain, makes me feel powerful, like I can take on the world. Well, it did… until you came along. Now, whenever I drink I just think about you. I think about how much I fucked up, and how stupid I was for letting you go.”

He was looking right at you now, his jade orbs blazing with so much intensity it made your stomach flip. 

“Dean, I-”

“Let me finish,” he interrupted you, letting the towel that you’d draped around him drop to the floor. He was making his way towards you now, closing the distance, and you weren’t stopping him. “When you left, I… I didn’t know what to do. So, I drank. I drank until I couldn’t even stand, hoping it would kill me - praying that I could get your beautiful fucking face out of my mind.” 

Dean was but inches away from you now, so close you could feel his hot breath on your face as he breathed. He didn’t smell like whiskey; not his breath, not his clothes. You looked up into his eyes with tears in your own. 

“But I couldn’t,” he continued, taking his cold fingers and running them down the apple of your cheek. “I couldn’t stop thinking about your soft skin, about your laugh, that smile. No matter how much I drank, you were there, constantly reminding me of my failures.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your lip trembling, hot tears streaming down your face now. 

“You do not have to be sorry, Y/N,” he said, taking his fingers and entwining them in your hair. “It’s me who should be sorry for ever letting you walk out that door.”

“What about the Mark?” you asked curiously, your eyes darting to the harsh, red welt on his forearm. His eyes flitted away from you for a moment, clearing his throat. 

“Sam seems to think he has a way of getting it off, but he’s not sure it’ll work.”

“Is it getting worse? To control I mean…”

“It’s better now that I’m not drinking as much…”

You reached down with your finger to trace the Mark, Dean’s eyes fluttering closed as you did. Bending down to pick up the towel, you used it to wipe off the excess water from his face that had dripped down from his hair. 

“Your hair is longer now,” you said with a small smile. “I like it.” 

Taking the towel, you dried his hair, working your fingers through it to style it nicely. His eyes were still closed as you worked your magic, a content smile spread on his face. The crinkles by his eyes appeared which you’d missed deeply, your fingers moving down to touch them for a brief moment. His eyes shot open as you did, the emerald sparkling now. 

“I missed you so much,” you breathed, your mouth inches away from his perfect, pouty lips. 

“Give me another chance,” he begged, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close to his chest. His wet clothes were sending chills all along your body, but you didn’t care. This was the moment you had dreamed of for weeks. “I can’t live without you.”

Your heart won against your brain this time, and your lips crashed into his. He melded into you immediately, his tongue swiping over your bottom lip for entrance into your mouth. You granted it willingly, your tongues dancing in unison. His mouth tasted sweet and, for the first time in a long time, not like whiskey. Your fingers worked quickly to rid him of his wet clothes, hurrying to work his flannel from his shoulders and down his arms. He helped you to rid him of his black undershirt, throwing it to the side with his flannel. Your fingers naturally gravitated to his stomach, desperate to feel the tight muscles underneath. 

His cold fingers worked your top and bra off, while yours moved to the button on his jeans. Once he had you completely naked in front of him, he shrugged his pants and boots off, kicking them to the side. The look in his eye was animalistic, his chest rising and falling in anticipation. He was the hunter and you were the prey, and you were ready for him to pounce. 

Pounce he did, as he pushed you as gently as he could down onto the bed, ravaging your neck with kisses. He nipped at your collarbone, while your nails dug into his back, desperate to feel him fill you. Dean knew your cue, and sank his long, hard length deep inside you. You were whole again, as he began to move, each ridge and vein brushing against your walls expertly. Each move he made was so desperate - desperate to become one with you again, to feel that connection. It was rushed and you didn't care. 

“I love you,” he groaned, as he began to pick up his pace, fucking you into oblivion. You were so close to coming that your toes curled, your moans reaching the ceiling. “Let me feel you cum, sweetheart. Make me cum.” 

That's all it took, his voice deep and raspy, for you to tip right over the edge. You came hard all around him, your walls clenching onto him like a vice, afraid he'd disappear. You watched his face as he came too, that beautiful expression of pure bliss, his seed spilling inside you. 

Dean collapsed next to you and brought you close to him, his arms squeezing you so tightly. You knew then that he felt the same way you did; he was afraid if he let you go you would slip away. Both of you laid there in silence, too tired to speak. It wasn't long before Dean’s breathing turned into soft snores, and you knew he was asleep. God only knew how long it had been since he actually slept. 

Propping yourself up on your elbow, you looked down at his beautiful face. He was perfect; every wrinkle, freckle, and scar. What the Mark was doing to him, he didn't deserve. He'd given up drinking just to get you back, given up everything that made him feel normal, just to be back here in this shitty motel with you. It was only fair that you did the same. Leaning down, you placed a soft kiss on the tip of his nose.

“I'll make you better,” you whispered, moving his still wet hair out of his eyes with your fingers. One lonely tear trickled down your cheek and you wiped it away, determined to be strong for the man you loved - the strongest man you'd ever met. “I promise.”


End file.
